


Dream Eater (Alternately Titled; an au I have notes on, but probably will never go in depth about)

by Clamdiver



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Horrorterror Dave, M/M, Mind the Tags, Other, Plot implied with Porn, Psychological Horror, Tentacles, dubcon, mindcontrol, mindmeld, noncon, unrequited?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24737215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clamdiver/pseuds/Clamdiver
Summary: Perhaps the nightmares are payment for the good life you lead.(Reposting my old fic)
Relationships: John Egbert/Dave Strider
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Dream Eater (Alternately Titled; an au I have notes on, but probably will never go in depth about)

**Author's Note:**

> [Original Notes:Ugh God. Came up with this idea with my buddy Cake. So this takes place in an actual AU with actual plot but I'm not sure I'll ever write it due to all of the world building issues. Its not too present in this unfortunately, so i'll just leave it as a series of smaller things for now until then.]
> 
> So tl;dr this was my first fic way back in 2017, but I abandoned it because I was nervous, but now me in 2020 has no fucks left to give so I touched it up a bit and am reposting it here.

_‘Come on babe, ain’t askin’ much for the toll,_

_All ya gotta do is gimme your body’n soul’_

John can’t sleep despite exhaustion. His mind, however, would like to gently remind his body that it is an asshole and it needs to stop doing this asap.

These are the moments that John has to hold on to; waking up to the horror _(embarrassment_ ) from the previous nightmare still being fresh in his mind. It grants him a lucidity that time wears down to a drug-like haze. He feels hot and sticky despite it being a rather mild spring morning.

Thankfully, Dad has enough common sense and courtesy to not barge into his teenage son’s bedroom.

These recurring nightmares they-

They always start out the same; John’s whole body is incapable of moving, sans for his head. Not that he has any desire to look around. His arms, legs and waist are held fast to a warm wall by even warmer, slick appendages. Sometimes he doesn’t open his eyes, but he knows the sensation all too well now. A slow, steady beat can be felt more than heard thumping all around John. It’s slimy, it’s gross, and John hates every second of it.

It was only made that much worse when his mind decides to be an even bigger asshole than his body by making John open his eyes.

Eyes, everywhere. Infinite in number, shapes and sizes. They all watch him like one would regard a curious bug or specimen under a microscope. Their unblinking gazes send goose pimples flaring up his skin and makes John want to scratch everywhere. The staring doesn't bother him as much as it should, unnerving as it is. He’s too busy fighting against his tentacle-like restraints.

Were he not on the verge of an honest to God panic attack, John would have laughed at the absurdity of his nightmares. It was like he was starring in an odd mashup of Rose’s and Jade’s respective fetishes. Why were his friends all such weirdos? Jesus. Where were they right now? Wait. No. Where was _he_?

This is when things become painfully lucid, a deluge of questions begin to fill John’s head. The sensation is very much like a mini existential crisis that one might get while performing any number of mundane tasks. These thoughts are then pushed back down into the back of the mind, never to be fully understood nor addressed. John has no such luxury and cannot quiet the thoughts; they become almost deafening in his mind.

John’s hysteria shifts into overdrive the longer he remains dreaming, outright thrashing and pulling himself away from those fucking gross tendrils don’t tOUchhim let go _letgo-_

The walls themselves rumble with a sound not meant for sane ears. If John had to describe the noise, it would be something like heavy machinery malfunctioning crossed with a man being crushed to death. John feels the vibrations in the wall he is attached to; the tendrils that surround him grip even tighter. He suddenly feels so very small in their thick embrace, like a twig being strangled by an anaconda.

John’s vision blurs, his heartbeat pulsing madly in his chest, trying to break out of its cage. These moments make the nightmares feel all the more real, impossible as they are. None of it makes any sense; why his mind would conjure up such foul things. Harsh sounds of grinding gears and scraping steel swallow him up. Perhaps John had a lot more to work out than he previously thought. 

His struggling weakens until John has little strength to do much more than gently tug here and there. Maybe these nightmares were his shitty subconscious trying to make him realize just how much he feared weakness. Great. 

The walls of the space he is in continue to undulate before his eyes; its surfaces no longer vibrating from the ungodly shrieking. The slippery appendages also slacken their hold on his limbs a bit, rubbing them almost as if in apology. John is somewhat grateful, but it doesn’t really register. He feels himself being sucked back into the typical fogginess of dreaming; more of an observer rather than a participant.

The rubbing of his limbs turns into roaming, John knows this feeling well too. The walls rumble again with a much deeper, almost pleased sound. His breath hitches when he feels one of the slick appendages slip underneath his shirt. _(Was he always wearing one?)_

More touch him, stroking his face and hair and John thinks he can almost feel puffs of air next to his ear. He shudders. He had forgotten about these parts, he always did. It made waking up with morning wood a hundred million times more embarrassing. It was embarrassing because...because... He wouldn’t want them to know right? Important people? Important people.

Important people to him, ones that he liked. John tried to slog through the quagmire of his thoughts, but could only find one name that rose above the muck besides his own. Yes, this one was important, they were his friend? No, no, more than friends. Better than friends. Closer.

“Dave.”

John hears the moan that rises out from his traitorous throat, but finds his shame strangely absent. Perhaps it was a good thing that he got off to thoughts of his...his.. _(boy?)_ friend while being felt up by some tentacle beast. Better than thinking about said monster he guessed.

The rumbling has turned almost into crooning that resonates both inside and out of John’s head. Not only that, but the walls with their endless eyes seem to get closer into view. His dreamself finally allows him to close off the vision.

The tendrils that hold him suddenly feel less clumsy _(when did they change?)_ and much more dexterous. Numerous hands touch John all over, in places where only he has dared to touch himself. One drifts down ( _up?)_ and spreads itself possessively over his belly. His gasps are swallowed by a sudden pair of lips on his; warm and moist. The mouth pressed against his feels kinda gooey and weird like everything else surrounding him, but it’s at least humanoid. He feels himself kiss back.

It nips and licks at John’s mouth, gently asking for entrance. A twist to one of his nipples causes him to whine, granting the greedy tongue the opening it needs. The warm appendage takes this opportunity to explore his mouth. John’s tongue gains a will of its own as it twines playfully with the other. They continue this tentative dance for a time, if time means anything at all.

“Mmm..D-dave...”

He gasps. The hands keep themselves very busy stroking him both above and below the waist, coaxing more sounds out of John. He groans into the mouth that had been sucking on his tongue when he feels fingers press _(when did-)_ something inside him. His ass, thighs and belly receive most of their attention, although his arms and legs somehow still remain immobile. The intense heat and moisture leaves no part of him untouched; mind, body and soul all laid bare for them to explore. ( _to have and to hold-_ )

It feels... so simple to give in; to offer the walls, mouth, eyes and hands everything that he has. The desire to give, give and give- starts to swell up inside John’s heart. To become a part of a larger whole, it was almost a relief to unburden himself like this. He was just so tired. There is no greater euphoria than utter oblivion of the self. Take his guiltshame _sorrow-_ lift him up, leave him hollow. Yes, this will be all he ever needs, all he’ll ever fucking _want-_

If this is hell, then maybe he didn’t mind burning.

_(John is too far gone to comprehend the garbled voice in recesses of his mind hissing its agreement)_

All too soon the mouth on his pulls back, allowing John the breath he doesn't want back. He feels the mouth begin to softly nuzzle and pepper kisses into his neck. Unlike the lips, the hands have ceased their gentle rhythm and stroke him to a fevered pace, both hot and demanding. John sucks lungfuls of muggy air, sweat and slime meeting together in long trickles down his panting form. There’s too much, it’s all too much, close, he’s _so close-_

“Dave!”

A deep, guttural noise passes through the mouth on his throat, tearing through John’s arousal like a bird of prey through carrion. Whatever part of his dazed mind considered the thing that’s kissing him to pass for human is savagely torn to shreds. The overwhelming heat of the hands suddenly feels cold and clammy against John’s skin.

A hand that was busy caressing his cheek switches to gripping his jaw, keeping his head from moving. The mouth removes itself from sucking a hickey onto John’s collarbone, pulling itself back to face him. Something, John isn’t sure what exactly, but something in the nightmare wants him to look. The walls themselves can be felt shivering with anticipation.

John really, _really_ does not want to look.

Nails? No, claws are painfully digging into everywhere that he had been stroked so tenderly before. It hurts like a bitch, but he hopes the pain will help to wake him up. _(when will it be_ _over?_ )

He continues to weakly writhe in torment while his eyes stubbornly remain shut.

Unfortunately for John, this is a nightmare and what he wants apparently doesn't mean jack shit. It never did.

His eyes open of their own volition.

It is humanoid, John thinks. The thing possesses a vague head and torso of a human, but it's familiar features stop there. He sees a white saucer stare unblinkingly at him. No. As his eyes adjust to the sight John realizes there are two clock faces ‘looking’ at him. The clocks take up the entirety of a the creature’s respective eye sockets. Pairs of smaller slanted eyes rest beneath the ticking time pieces. In fact, eyes seem to pop up wherever they feel like on its slimy, red body.

After risking a look down, John’s stomach clenches. Below the waist is nothing but a ruddy, shapeless mass that appears to have jutted out from the walls themselves. Even more appendages, eyes and mouths are attached to this creature and- 

Christ, what the fuck is wrong with his brain what the actual fucking _fuck-_

“Let me go! Fuck!”

John’s mental downward spiral is followed by his restraints trying to strangle the life out of him once more. he doesn’t even put up a fight this time, letting them do whatever the fuck they want. The entity before him watches silently for a brief moment before dragging its massive lower half to draw itself near. ( _where does its body end?)_

Fuck what is happening, where is he, what is going _on?_ His eyes squeeze shut, but even in the dream John can feel the tears rolling down his face as sobs continue to wrack his frame.

A clawless hand gently places itself upon John’s cheek, thumbing away newly shed tears. 

“Please.”

It’s not certain if he chokes out the plea from his sobbing or the tendril constricting around his neck. Nor is John sure of what he is even asking for. He just wants this to be _over_.

Lips, now brushing the shell of his ear, whisper a simple phrase in a language that he heard once spoken by a dear friend. Long ago, the way she had burbled her words and hissed syllables had made him giggle. That’s right. He played a game with his friends and the trolls and-

He didn’t understand the silly gobbledygook back then, but he does now.

  
  


“S̵͇̳Ḻ̢̻̪̰̩EE̮̭̕P͙̪̼͉̦ ̗͚́ ̴J̩̱̫̩̰̫̫O҉͙̜͈̖H̼̝̦̺̝̳̞̀N͔̻̬̙͟ͅ”

  
  


There’s no way to fight the words that wrap around his weary mind like a blanket. Coddling and cradling him as if he were a beloved child. Oblivion is coming up fast, it pulses across John’s vision and finds he can’t muster enough energy to give a shit. He feels the eyes still watching him, there is almost a sense of remorse in the way they watch him. He doesn’t know why he can fucking feel these things, but it none of that matters now. Darkness is swallowing him as John comes to what he thinks is a terribly funny realization. He lets out a weak huff of air.

He forgets the nightmares, because he doesn’t _want_ to remember; the truth too horrible for John to bear. 

He wakes up.

  
  
  
  


  
  



End file.
